Love Always

by Harriet Evans

  ‘That’s what I like about him, actually,’ Cecily said. ‘I feel like I’ve known him for ever.’

  Miranda rolled her eyes. ‘You would say that, because I said the opposite. Of course.’

  ‘I mean it, honestly,’ Cecily protested. She looked awkwardly at her sister. ‘Please. Don’t let’s row again,’ she begged. ‘Last night was so awful. I said sorry for it. You know I did.’

  ‘All right,’ Miranda said crossly. She touched the glowing red scratch on her cheek, and Cecily too; they were almost identical. ‘We’re all right now. Let’s leave it, for heaven’s sake.’

  There was a silence. The magazine slid off Cecily’s lap onto the floor; she ignored it. ‘Well, I don’t like Frank,’ she said after a while. ‘I just don’t.’

  ‘Why don’t you go and play cricket, Cecily?’ Miranda said icily. ‘Burn off some of that energy before lunch. Little girls need to behave if they’re going to eat with the grown-ups.’

  ‘Well, I’m going to go and play cricket,’ Cecily said, as if her sister hadn’t spoken. She shot out through the French windows, calling, ‘Hi! Can I play?’

  ‘Of course,’ Jeremy said, smiling fondly at his youngest cousin as she ran up to them. ‘Do you want to be a fielder?’

  ‘Oh,’ said Cecily. ‘Um yes, why not?’

  ‘Cec,’ said Guy, handing her his bat. ‘I was about to go up and wash my hands before lunch, why don’t you take over?’

  Just then, there was a scream from upstairs. ‘Oh! Oh, my God!’ There came a muffled thud. ‘Leave me alone, you vile, vile little shit!’

  ‘What’s that?’ Frank looked up in alarm. ‘That’s Louisa. Louisa? Are you all right?’

  There was no answer. Frank began to run, fast, towards the house. ‘Louisa? Hello? I say, what’s happened?’

  Jeremy followed him. ‘Louisa?’ he called, breaking into a sprint. ‘Hey!’

  ‘Archie again,’ said Cecily softly to Guy, who was looking up at the house.

  ‘Archie what?’ he said quickly. ‘He’s a peeping Tom,’ Cecily said flatly. ‘Come on, let’s go and see if she’s all right.’

  But it was Archie who needed the attention when they reached the top of the stairs. Through the open door Frank could be seen with his arms around Louisa, comforting her while she cried. And on the landing, rocking backwards and forwards, was Archie. Blood dripped from his nose onto the green carpet, staining it black. His carefully groomed hair was messy, the quiff bobbing loose over his forehead, and his beautiful white short-sleeved shirt had blood on it.

  ‘What happened here?’ said Guy. He leaned down. ‘Oh, my goodness. We need Jeremy, where is he? I think you’ve broken your nose.’

  Cecily ran back downstairs to fetch him, her eyes wild, staring at her brother.

  ‘She hit me,’Archie said. ‘Silly bitch.’ He shot Louisa a look of hatred, his hand clasped to his nose. ‘I was just walking back from the bathroom and she came out of her room and hit me. I’ve no idea why. She’s hysterical. She’s a hysterical bitch. Bitch!’ he repeated, as if that was the worst thing he could say. He wiped one hand on his jeans, smearing them with blood, and swore again. That was what was almost as shocking, seeing him so dishevelled. Archie never had a hair out of place, he never showed any emotion other than amused detachment or careful watchfulness.

  Cecily reappeared with Jeremy, who grimaced. He put his finger under Archie’s chin and looked at his cousin, who had blood pouring down his face into his shirt. ‘My goodness,’ he said. ‘How did you do this?’

  ‘I’ll tell you how,’ said Louisa, breaking away from Frank and coming forward. ‘He spies on me, I told you, Jeremy! I was just changing out of my bathers, and I heard a noise again, and I looked towards the door. There’s a gap at the bottom, you can see shadows moving. So I pretended to be going to fetch my hairbrush off the dresser.’ She swallowed. ‘And then I opened the door and – I shoved my knee right in his face. Hard.’ She came up to Archie. ‘You disgusting, disgusting little dirty bastard,’ she spat. ‘What is it with you? What’s wrong with you, with you and your damn sister? You’re both disgusting!’

  ‘I didn’t do it!’ Archie cried, looking around for support. His gaze fell on Miranda, who had arrived and was standing at the top of the stairs, watching them. ‘Miranda, I didn’t do it. You know I wouldn’t do it.’ He looked imploringly at his sister.

  Guy said quietly, ‘What were you doing there, then?’ Archie was silent. ‘Exactly,’ Louisa said triumphantly. ‘Look at you.’

  Frank put his arms around her again. ‘Poor honeybun,’ he said into her hair. ‘Why don’t we get you a drink.’ He looked at Cecily. ‘Where are your parents? You’d have thought they’d have heard.’

  ‘Mum’s still upstairs working I think, she doesn’t really hear anything when she’s in the studio. Dad – oh, who knows. He probably didn’t notice either.’ Cecily knitted her fingers together, as if the unconcern of her parents was an embarrassment to her. She turned to Guy. ‘What shall we do?’

  ‘Why are you asking him?’ Miranda said scornfully. Guy looked at Jeremy and raised his eyebrows questioningly.

  ‘I’m going to take you into the bathroom downstairs and get you cleaned up,’ Jeremy said calmly to Archie. ‘And then let’s have a chat.’

  ‘I’m going to tell your parents,’ Louisa said. Her expression was vicious, ugly. ‘I’ve had enough. This whole holiday, the two of you . . . if it’s not your sister like a dog in heat, it’s you.’

  ‘What do you mean by that?’ Archie said. ‘I mean, this house is . . . Oh, God, I don’t know!’ Louisa threw her hands up in the air, almost in despair. ‘I hate it! The two of you together, you peering and spying, and Miranda, getting up to God knows what at night-time, I’ve heard her, I know what’s going on . . .’ She trailed off. ‘You should both be locked up, what is it with you two? Is it something in your blood? The other side of the family, I mean.’

  There was an awful silence. ‘I wouldn’t say anything more if I were you, Louisa,’ Miranda said, facing her cousin, her hands on her hips. ‘It’s not your house, it’s ours. You’re lucky to be here.’

  ‘Don’t speak to me like that.’

  ‘I’ll speak to you how I like.’ Miranda was shaking, her voice low, bursting with venom. ‘You’ll be sorry, Louisa. I tell you. Don’t – don’t cross me.’

  There was a silence, and they were all still, frozen to the spot, staring at each other, as if seeing each other for the first time.

  Louisa broke the spell. ‘I’ve had enough of this,’ she said in a shaky voice, and turned back into her bedroom, Frank holding her hand. ‘Of all of this.’ She shut the door, leaving the others on the other side of it, Archie still bleeding, Miranda gazing almost in astonishment at the closed door, and the other three standing there, unsure of what to do next.

  The atmosphere was charged with tension, bursting out everywhere, as if it had finally found a release valve.

  ‘Let’s go,’ Jeremy said uncomfortably, handing Archie another tissue, and their strange procession trooped downstairs. ‘I think we should find—’

  ‘Hello?’ A thin, rather querulous voice came from the sitting room, and as they got downstairs a figure appeared in the hallway. ‘Hello? Is anyone there?’

  ‘Oh, my God,‘ Jeremy whispered. ‘Jeremy? Is that you? My goodness, what on earth has been going on?’

  ‘Mother?’ Jeremy said, emerging into the hallway. ‘We weren’t expecting you till tea-time!’ He strode forward, a smile on his face.

  Pamela James, Frances’s sister, was standing in the hall, holding a pair of immaculate white gloves. She offered her cheek to her son. ‘We left earlier, to avoid the traffic. Hello, dear,’ she said. ‘Daddy’s just parking the car. Where is Frances? No use asking for Arvind, I suppose.’

  She was like a figure from another world, in a deep fuchsia tweed suit and sensible black patent court shoes, her handbag tucked into the crook of her elbow. Her calm, rather distant gaze took i
n Cecily, Guy and Archie, a handkerchief pressed to his nose. ‘Again. Can someone explain what has been going on?’

  Jeremy took charge. He said, ‘Archie walked into a door. I’m just going to get him cleaned up now, Mother. Cecily, why don’t you go and find Franty – Aunt Frances, I mean?’ Cecily nodded and ran towards the back staircase to her parents’ room.

  ‘Well, it’s good to be here, even if no one seems prepared for our arrival,’ Pamela said, putting her gloves down on the table and looking around, while Archie, Jeremy and Miranda stood transfixed in the corridor. ‘It was a very long drive and I’m rather tired. Is lunch soon, do you know?’

  ‘I think so –‘ Jeremy said, and just then, much to their relief, Frances appeared. ‘Hello, hello,’ she said, rushing towards her sister, pushing her hair back up into her head-scarf. ‘Pamela, darling, how wonderful to see you. We weren’t expecting you till tea! You have made good time!’

  ‘Thank you,’ Pamela said. ‘Yes, we set out early. I hope this doesn’t throw your plans off.’ She pronounced it ‘orf’. ‘I did say we might be here for lunch.’

  Frances waved her hands. ‘No, of course not! It’s wonderful to have you here.’ She linked her sister’s arm through hers and they stood there, both tall and similar in looks, but utterly different people: Frances barefoot in cropped trousers and a billowing smock, a patterned scarf tying back her hair, glowing with sun and a smudge of paint on her shirt and her long slim neck: and Pamela, perfectly dressed, not a hair out of place even after a six-hour drive.

  ‘I’ll go and help with the bags,’ said Guy, glad to have an excuse to disappear.

  ‘We’ve been overrun with young people,’ Frances told her sister. ‘Absolutely overrun with them. I’ve been feeling terribly old and dowdy, and now you and John are here, we can redress the balance.’ She smiled manically at Pamela, as if she wasn’t sure who she was.

  ‘I hope the children have been behaving themselves,’ Pamela said. ‘That they’ve not been too much trouble.’

  ‘The children?’ Frances tugged at a blue glass necklace hanging round her neck. ‘Oh . . . goodness, no. They’re wonderful. Terrific to have them all here. And the Leightons are lovely boys. I think they’ve been getting along fine – I’m afraid we’ve been terribly lax hosts,’ she said, scratching her head and smiling vaguely as Guy reappeared, carrying two suitcases, followed by John James, who was taking off his driving gloves as he entered the house. ‘Ah, John, how lovely!’ She kissed him on the cheek. ‘I was just saying to Pamela, I’m sure the children have been getting up to all sorts of mischief. It’s a good thing you’re both here, I’m sure!’

  Only then did she catch sight of Archie, and she ran her hand rather helplessly over her brow. ‘Goodness, Archie, you have been in the wars, darling.’

  They were all silent. Pamela and John stood there, watching them. From upstairs came the sound of Louisa’s weeping.

  ‘Is that crying?’ Pamela said, as if she’d never heard it before.

  ‘Oh, dear,’ Frances said, looking almost annoyed. ‘What have you all been up to?’

  ‘You really didn’t hear, did you?’ Cecily said quietly to her mother.

  ‘No,’ Frances said. ‘Have you all gone wild? Started beating each other up? Is this Lord of the Flies?’ She laughed, but it sounded odd, harsh.

  ‘What have we let ourselves in for, dear?’ John said, rocking on his feet. His face was stern; he was only partly joking.

  There was no answer to this. The others were silent. Frances went over to the front door, pushing it shut. ‘Come in,’ she said, taking a deep breath. ‘I’ll find out when lunch will be ready. I’m sorry. Welcome, welcome.’

  Chapter Eighteen

  There would be no ‘Please Please Me’ blaring out of the sitting-room record player into the dining room now that Pamela and John were here, that much was obvious. There would also be no smoking after dinner, and Cecily would not be given her customary glass of wine. And there would be no lazing around on the terrace afterwards. Something in the atmosphere had shifted that day.

  When Pamela and John came into the living room that evening, Guy was saying to Frances, ‘The Stratford by-election is soon, isn’t it? I bet old Macmillan must be terrified. The way things are going, that Monster Raving Loony party could win it, you know. They’ve certainly got my vote.’

  ‘I don’t think that’s a suitable subject for discussion,’ said Pamela, stopping in front of him. ‘And I don’t think one should refer to the Prime Minister of one’s country as “Old Macmillan”, Guy.’

  Frances jumped up. ‘No, of course not,’ she said cravenly, shooting Guy a glance of apology. ‘Quite right. Jeremy, will you get your mother a drink? Pam, will you have a gimlet? Darling, that’s a beautiful dress, you put me quite to shame.’ She patted her sister’s arm and turned, catching sight of her daughters, who were looking bored on the sofa. ‘Miranda, Cecily, you look like vagrants,’ she said, her voice sharp. ‘Go and change, for God’s sake.’

  Looking slightly surprised at her mother’s harsh tone, Cecily said, ‘But Mummy, Guy and I were picking the blackberries, you said it was all right.’

  ‘Not like that,’ Frances said. ‘Look at you.’ She waved a hand, encompassing her youngest daughter’s stained yellow shorts and crumpled white cotton top. Cecily’s hair was in knots where the wind had caught it. ‘Guy changed, why on earth can’t you?’

  Cecily turned to her, mystified. ‘Mother, you are very very annoying.’

  ‘Cecily!’ Pamela said, scandalised. ‘You shouldn’t talk to your mother like that.’

  ‘She is annoying,’ Cecily said. ‘In the mornings when she paints me she’s always trying to get me to be more ruffled up and dirty, and when I am, she tells me to go and change! Come on, Miranda.’

  ‘I’m not changing,’ Miranda said. She crossed her arms and stared defiantly at her mother, thick hair tossed to one side, her rosebud lips pouting.

  ‘Oh, yes you are,’ Frances said, her voice quiet.

  Miranda squared up to her. ‘No,’ she said. ‘I don’t want to. And you know you can’t make me.’

  She carried on staring at Frances, her jaw set, her eyes blazing. Cecily watched them.

  ‘Fine,’ Frances said eventually, turning away from Miranda, but not before she’d given her a cold, hard look, quite chilling. ‘How did you get that scratch on your cheek?’ she said suddenly. Miranda covered her face with her hand, blushing.

  ‘Did it myself,’ she mumbled. ‘Where’s Archie?’ Frances asked. ‘Early night,’ Guy said. ‘Still a bit shaken.’ Frances looked as if she would ask something else, but then a voice behind her came from the corridor. ‘Ah. So, the outsiders are inside.’ Frances turned around gratefully.

  ‘He lives!’ she cried, trying to keep out the harshness she could hear creeping into her voice. ‘Darling, hello. Get a drink. How’s your day been?’

  ‘Unpleasant,’ Arvind said. ‘Troubling. Disrupted.’

  He advanced gingerly into the room; he was uneasy around his tall, brash, far too English sister-in-law.

  Frances went over to him, smiling suddenly. ‘Poor darling,’ she said. ‘Have a gimlet. Thank you, Mary.’

  ‘Welcome,’ Arvind said, raising his glass to Pamela and John. They nodded politely.

  Silence threatened to engulf the room. ‘How – how is your work going?’ John enquired, looking vaguely from Arvind to Frances, both of whose professions, if you could call them that, were a source of mystery to him. John was a solicitor of the old school. Philosophers and painters were outside his remit but, unlike his wife, he thought you had to ask to find out.

  Frances and Arvind looked at each other, like naughty children caught by a teacher.

  ‘You first,’ said Arvind. ‘Oh, well. I’m preparing for a show, at the Du Vallon Gallery, in September,’ Frances said.

  ‘How interesting.’ John nodded. ‘Thank you.’ Frances smiled. ‘We’re having a party! They’re sending out invitations s
oon.’

  John nodded again. ‘Delightful.’

  There was an awkward pause. ‘Did you – did you hear about Ward taking an overdose?’ Miranda said. Her mother frowned.

  ‘They say he won’t make it through the night,’ Jeremy added.

  ‘This whole case,’ John said, shaking his head. ‘The state of the country after this trial is over – the damage will be incalculable.’

  Pamela nodded. ‘Oh, yes. I agree. Some of the details—!’ She shook her head.

  Frances batted her husband playfully on the arm. ‘Go and see if Mary’s ready for us, will you, darling?’

  ‘Of course!’ Arvind exclaimed with relief. ‘Excuse me,’ he said, exiting for the kitchen.

  Guy was watching this exchange when a movement by the French windows caught his eye. Cecily had reappeared, in a simple black linen dress, her hair smooth and gleaming, her cheeks flushed. She was leaning against the door frame, staring at them, smiling, her eyes full of tears.

  ‘Hey, I say.’ He went over and nudged her. ‘What’s up?’

  ‘Nothing!’ she said quickly, brushing away something on her cheek. ‘I’m just a bit tired. It’s almost too hot, isn’t it? There’s a storm coming, I think, there’s no breeze at all.’

  Guy ignored this. ‘Cecily? What’s wrong?’

  She smiled. ‘Darling Guy. Nothing. They’re so funny, my parents, that’s all. I don’t understand them. I look at them and I think I don’t really know them at all. That must sound silly.’

  ‘You never sound silly,’ Guy said, his voice full of warmth. ‘Trust me.’

  ‘You’re being nice.’ She turned to him, her face glowing, and Guy was taken aback; she was so beautiful in that moment, her clear coffee-coloured skin covered with a smattering of dark caramel freckles from the sun, her green eyes so dark they were almost black, and the evening breeze ruffling her hair. He caught his breath; the smell of lavender from the bushes next to them was almost intoxicating. She breathed in too, with a shudder. ‘I sometimes think I’m too emotional. Most of the girls at school, they’re quite happy to leave their parents and brothers and sisters behind, for months on end. And their homes. I hate it, you know. I love them and I love it here, it’s awful being away. And then I come back and I forget . . . how things are.’